


Hoax

by Sitary



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: After King of Scars, Angst, Eventual Smut, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Touch-Starved, Yearning, hints at Zoya|Nikolai, pinning, very little fluff, what can you expect?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sitary/pseuds/Sitary
Summary: “We must get rid of him,” Zoya was saying not much later, as she paced inside her own room, where Nikolai was resting his head. “You should have let me kill him immediately. This is, without a doubt, one of the worst ideas you have ever had in your life, and you are smiling.”Nikolai was, indeed, smiling. He had experienced the worst pain imaginable to him. He had looked at the demon in the eyes once again, and he had been promised torture, but not death. Nikolai was still alive.
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Nikolai Lantsov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Hoax

Being King of Ravka meant living on a palace, which is, generally speaking, usually a bad idea. Statistically, all monarchs that had been once murdered had lived in a palace. One could assume this made them prompt to assassinations, since their enemies knew were to find them. Nonetheless, living in a palace came with its perks. For example, a grand and luxurious bedchamber: it was one of Nikolai’s greatest achievements, if he could say so himself. If he had to spend great part of his time sleeping, or trying, or simply chained to four bedposts contemplating the unfairness of existence, he might as well do it with style. If anything else failed, he at least had some expensive furniture to destroy. A win-win.

Sadly, said bedchamber was currently being also used as a holding cell.

See, one of the benefits of a palace is that it comes with its own private prison. Nothing too fancy, a couple of cells down in the basement with easy access to all of his staff. Guards, maids and butlers that could come and go unsupervised to feed his prisoners or keep them in check. So, if one wanted to keep one certain prisoner _secret_ a private cell would be the last place you want to keep them.

The king’s bedchamber, on the other hand, truly is a private place. No one enters the king’s bedchamber. If the _King_ says no maids are to enter, then no maids shall enter. If the king puts two of his best guards on day long duty outside his door, no one questions this decision, only the King’s sanity. So, naturally, Nikolai’s bedchamber was the safest place to keep a certain prisoner _secret._

So it was that his precious bedchamber was tainted with the constant presence of the Darkling luring on every corner.

It had been merely twenty four hours since they had been back, and already several political scandals were on the verge of erupting, at least three assassination plots underway under his own roof, and only one of them had been directed towards Nikolai, who found it extremely rude. A brand new war was going to start any day now, and the Darkling reborn was lounging on Nikolai’s his favorite armchair.

Nikolai’s friends had _not_ taken the news lightheartedly, despite Nikolai’s insistence. He was certain that they could use the Darkling’s power to his benefit, but sure, he wasn’t happy about it. So yes, he had had to make haste to keep the man out of the murderous hands of his skilled friends until he could talk some sense into them. But, silly him, he hadn’t been fast enough and Genya had managed to land a heavy blow to the man’s face, who was now sporting a purple eye which he prodded gently with his fingers, wincing ever so slightly. Oh well, what a shame.

“She’s tougher than I remember,” the man muttered, looking at his reflection over a polished silver spoon.

“Perhaps your memory has become faulty. I hear that can be a side effect of death,” Nikolai offered, glancing ever so slightly at the dictator sitting on his couch. Turning his back on him, he tried to calm his nerves by serving himself half a glass of honeyed liquor, the bottle resting otherwise untouched by a table near the door.

If he was being honest with himself, which was a trait he was not keen on cultivating _,_ having the Darkling, the _Darkling,_ camping out in his room was definitely one of the worst decisions he had made in his entire life. The old grisha’s presence had always been downright oppressive, but the fact that he had somehow cheated death proposed another whole set of different problems on Nikolai’s wavering reign.

 _Do not dwell on this,_ he told himself. The Darkling was simply another enemy, another potential tool against the wars to come. He had faced him once, he would do it again.

But turning back, quartz eyes pinned him on the spot. The details on the man were wrong, his former beauty mixed with the remnants of the body he now inhabited. But it was him, his posture, leaning on the couch as if the whole palace belonged to him. As if he was the one true king of Ravka. And Nikolai couldn’t help the following words slipping into his mind: _He’s back._

“You won’t pour me a drink, Lanstov?” The Darkling asked, a dirty and perfect eyebrow arching in a defiant manner.

Finding the strength in his legs was harder than he wanted to admit, but Nikolai moved with the dexterity of a soldier, ignoring that request and instead sitting on the plush couch right across the other man. If he was offended, he didn’t show it, instead making a show of waving his hand lazily in Nikolai’s general direction, and then turning around to inspect his reflection on the silverware once again.

The bitter, strong taste of the liquor cleared Nikolai’s head of some of his self doubt. He had insisted of dragging the Darkling from half a world away because he felt he could use him. Not only to get rid of the demon inside of him, but his power had once tipped the scales of Ravka in the war. If channeled, somehow, it would help them this time. Whether he liked it or not, he had the opportunity to grab one of the strongest weapons in the world to himself. The question was only how.

Despite the security that Tolya and Tamar were standing right outside the room, Nikolai was hesitant as to how to approach the subject. He had toyed with the idea of making the man wait a couple of days in solitude, but the idea of leaving him to his own devices was far less tempting than playing politics with him.

“As far as I enjoy not listening to your voice, _Korol Rezni,_ I find that your thoughts are as annoying inside your head as they are out of your mouth,” The Darkling spared a sideways glance to Nikolai. “Speak.”

“ _Korol Rezni?”_ Nikolai couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth in time. The Darkling’s mouth curved upwards in satisfaction.

“I heard the peasants of that town whisper that around you. Or did this kid hear it?” He looked downwards to his borrowed body. “I can’t recall. I find it suiting, however dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Like, ‘The Darkling’?” Nikolai couldn’t help but smile, resting his still half-full glass in the table dividing them.

The other man frowned, turning to pin Nikolai in a familiar, unamused gaze. His mouth however, was still turned into a mocking smile. “I have always liked _moi soverennyi.”_

It was Nikolai’s turn to wave him off. This idea had been ridiculous from the start. He had been sure he could try to persuade, or force, the Darkling to lend him his power, if he even had any left. So far, they hadn’t even felt a glimmer of that powerful presence the man had been two years ago. If his power was indeed gone, the man was only a liability, sure to fetch his followers and take over his cult. However, if he had power, the chances of him brutally murdering Nikolai and the Triumvirate were dangerously high.

“Why am I here, Lanstov?” The Darkling caught his attention again, the man leaning over in his seat, hands clasped before him. He looked more like a master questioning a pupil, than a glorified corpse threatening to ruin his kingdom.

Straight to the point then. “In the realm of the living? I wish I knew, and I wish I could turn it back.” Nikolai waved his arm around, encompassing the very room around them. “In my chamber? Because I do not trust you to leave you to your own devices, and this is the perfect place to keep you until I figure out what to do with you.”

“Your chamber?” The Darkling mused, that now familiar smirk playing in his lips like venom dripping from a snake’s fangs. “Well it is lavish I will agree. And let me guess, you wish to keep me here to convince me to be by your side in the wars to come. To use my power to aid you in your quest, is it not?”

Nikolai frowned, but before he could speak the Darkling cut him off once again.

“This is an old story, boy. A false king asks for my help. To conquer, to divide, to make a slave of me, to put on a show. My power is not to be tamed by the likes of you, _Korol Rezni._ I already know how this plays out, I’ve seen it before. Ravka at war, foreign armies bearing down on us-”

“Not _us._ ” Nikolai interrupted, anger flashing in his face. He had forgotten how hard was to keep one’s temperament when facing this man. Nikolai’s wounds, exhaustion and piled up failures flared up like a blazing sun fueling his hatred towards the man. “Not on _you,_ on Ravka, and you have no part of it. You have no claim to what you burned to the ground. You have no right to this country. You-”

Like a thunderclap, his fury was gone in an instant, replaced by a searing pain running all along his body. This was horror as he had never experienced before. Anguish, terror, pain bleeding him out. Nikolai hunched over the couch, his knuckles white, holding onto the pillows, the table, the floor, anything. He felt his bones shattering, piercing his skin right open. He could feel something, _someone,_ clawing from within his blood to open him up from inside. His veins were on fire. His heart was being pierced with ice shards. This was _pain._

And looming above him was the Darkling, his beautiful mask shattered away to reveal the monster within. Anger tainted his clear eyes as he knelt on the floor over the trembling ball that Nikolai had become.

“Do not test me, _moi tsar._ ” He whispered, his voice a trembling mess, barely containing the fire inside of himself. “You have something of mine, nesting within you. Do not presume to think I cannot feel it, I cannot make it obey me. What I would do for this country goes beyond what your little _otkazat’sya_ soul can fathom. I know eternity, Nikolai, and when you fail I will be there to pick up your pieces. You are nothing but dust to me.”

His thrashing must have alerted the twins, for Nikolai heard the door crash open, and through tears saw the Darkling’s face contort into pain. His own subdued almost immediately as he found himself being carried in a very embarrassing fashion, must one add, in Tolya’s strong arms. He caught a glance of Tamar standing, hands outstretched before her, concentrated in subduing the dictator behind them.

* * *

“We must get rid of him,” Zoya was saying not much later, as she paced inside her own room, where Nikolai was resting his head. “You should have let me kill him immediately. This is, without a doubt, one of the worst ideas you have ever had in your life, and you are _smiling._ ”

Nikolai was, indeed, smiling. The twins had stayed behind to guard the door to Nikolai’s, well, the Darkling's chamber. He hadn’t heard from Genya again, and he doubted she would come to speak to him, and David was busy working on special shackles for the Darkling’s own amusement.

However, despite all, Nikolai had information. He had experienced the worst pain imaginable to him. He has looked at the demon in the eyes one again, and he had promised Nikolai torture, but not death. Nikolai was still alive, and he somehow knew that the power within him was to thank. The Darkling could hurt him, but not kill him.

So Nikolai would face him, and he would be the one to prevail.

* * *

Aleksander Morozova pressed the heel of his palm to his chest, massaging the place right above his heart.

The heartender twins were stationed right outside. Aleksander respected heartenders, there were valuable assets and powerful soldiers, but he hated the touch of one of them over his own organs. Not being in control of one’s body was a miserable experience, and one that he had lived many different times.

He was laying on the same couch as before, his eyes pinned to the seat Lanstov had been, how long?, almost an hour ago. He could still remember the tired smile plastered on the boy’s face as he was being carried away by his guard. They both had felt it then, that connection that was keeping Aleksander’s powers in check.He had wanted to kill the boy, or at least paralyze him; But he had pulled on the darkness within Lanstov and it had _resisted._

What’s worse, that little display of power had left Aleksander’s hands shaking out of control. He was weak, a newborn in a cold, dangerous world. He was not complete, and he feared he would not be able to control his power with surgical precision as he had been once before. The thought brought him nothing but dismay.

However, there was a good side to these turn of events. A connection went both ways, and Aleksander would find a way to twitch the strings tying Lanstov together to his own rhythm.

He eyed the glass of liquor left untouched by the table. After a moment’s deliberation, the stretched out his hand to take it, and downed the rest of its contents.

**Author's Note:**

> The trailer ended me so you all have to suffer this story with me, since I need to get it out of my system.


End file.
